


Proper Usage

by twii2ted_8333335



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Boys Kissing, French Kissing, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twii2ted_8333335/pseuds/twii2ted_8333335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all just stuck in an endlessly replaying loop in his memory. He couldn't let it go. And if he couldn't let it go, he couldn't relax. And if he couldn't relax, he couldn't sit around doing nothing properly. </p><p>He felt like the mouse when some kid gave it a cookie. Except Grif was almost positive that mouse did not think about pressing its lips to the chocolate chips on that treat at any point</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proper Usage

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I'm trash I'm trash I am such a huge dumpster of trash~~
> 
>  
> 
> This is what happens when I rewatch old shows bc my bestie is watching it finally too

He couldn't stop thinking about it. Usually when Sarge reprimanded Grif about anything, that's as far as it went. The private took the verbal or physical assault and moved on. Yet this time he couldn't seem to move passed it. The thought of his Sargent dying, the feel of their lips together, the warmth returning to his body, the air in his lungs, _the coarseness of Sarge's lips against his own_ — it all just stuck in an endlessly replaying loop in his memory. He couldn't let it go. And if he couldn't let it go, he couldn't relax. And if he couldn't relax, he couldn't sit around doing nothing properly. 

He felt like the mouse when some kid gave it a cookie. Except Grif was almost positive that mouse did not think about pressing its lips to the chocolate chips on that treat at any point. 

He groaned as a realization was made. This was literally ruining his routine slobbing around the base and it wasn't going to leave until he actually _did_ something about it. "This is not worth the effort," he grumbled when he finally decided to find Sarge, "or the pain of him shooting me for even looking at him." 

The problem at that point wasn't getting the energy to confront him; it was finding the words to say. You don't just walk up to somebody and say, "Hey, reviving you revived a need in me and that need says to kiss you," especially when half the time they have a shotgun ready to point in your face. That just spelled disaster so blatantly that Grif easily recognized it. He needed to be a little crafty and actually appeal to Sarge's tastes to increase his chances of it working. 

"Not worth it. Not worth it in the least bit," he continued to mumble as he made his way to his Sargent's room, where the man likely was at this time in the day. He rapped on the door with enough force the first time that he wouldn't have to do more than that. Now _that_ had been worth the effort because he could let his arm just fall to his side and Sarge still came running to the door. What a win-win. 

He didn't salute to his superior like Simmons would have, but he did stand a little straighter which had the other man quirking up a curious brow. _Alright let's do this_. 

"Alright, I know this is going to sound weird as all hell, but sir, I need you to teach me the proper usage of CPR. Since I obviously don't know and it's bothering me to the point that I can't focus." He said it in a rush, not letting Sarge get a word in edgewise, and wow, yeah, that's a look of shock on his face. Grif feels the need to take a picture of that expression because it's likely never going to be shown again, mainly because Grif is never going to ask to be taught anything again. Screw that. 

"What in the hell? Are you — ?"

"No, I'm not sick and no, I'm not pranking you and no, Simmons didn't force me into this. This is all me." 

He's stunned into silence again. Sarge opened his mouth and closed it twice, aggravating the younger soldier because each time they moved his attention was drawn to them and the fact that he still _remembered what they felt like_ and that he still _really wanted that again_. He was ready to just throw caution to the wind and flat out kiss the man but hell, he didn't have the energy for that and probably didn't have enough strength to knock his superior around. He was a Sargent for a reason. 

In the time that Grif was dispelling his own inner fantasy, Sarge seemed to have finally gotten a grip on the situation. He cleared his throat and tugged Grif rather roughly into his quarters. The door shut behind him. 

"Let's ignore the fact that you don't give CPR for bullet wounds to the head," he started with, still slightly out of it, but the anger with the lower ranked man was quickly returning and that made Grif far more comfortable than he though it would. "Your execution of the whole process was completely incorrect. How I'm still alive will remain a mystery.

"To start off, your receiver should be flat on their back," Sarge half shoves Grif onto his bed and positions him to be flat as he'd told, "and their head should be tilted back, mouth open, to clear up the airways. I know for a fact that you did not even try to move me. My neck is still sore from your inadequacy." As he's speaking, he's tilting Grif's head back and leaning in close. The younger man can feel the other's breath on his lips, they're that close. His heart is pounding in his ears. 

"You're supposed to pinch their nose shut so no air escapes but since I'm not in the mood to kill you for once, I'll spare you that. Open up, buttercup." 

Grif's lips part and the moment they're wide enough, Sarge's are on them, pressed much more roughly than if this were a simple demonstration or real life CPR. Grif's lips are chapped but warm and they move almost eagerly against Sarge's smooth ones. A groan escaped from one of them, though neither can tell who, when Sarge slipped his tongue into his mouth, and Grif just went along with, lazily letting their tongues tangle. 

They didn't part for some time, Grif gasping for air when they did. He almost dove back in for another but Sarge pushed him back against the mattress. "Hear that?" There was a pause, only the heavy breathing of the orange soldier filling the air. "If it doesn't sound like that when you're done, you aren't doing it right and you'll need to do it again." Sarge pulled back from the bed, brushing himself down a little as he did, straightening his clothes again. "We'll practice it tomorrow." 

Grif was sent off after that, much to his distaste. _But hey. I got what I wanted and I still barely had to do a thing. I'm still in the green here._

He'd never been so happy to go to a training session that next day.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't look at me I don't remember how to do this
> 
> I also don't know how accurate that description of CPR is but eh


End file.
